A Dark and Stormy Night
by sydiy5bea
Summary: Everyone's afraid of something.
1. Chapter 1

"So, when and where do you want to meet?" I ask Frank, our contact.

Nate and I sit opposite of him at a picnic table in the park. The park is an ideal place to meet with clients. It's public (so there's less of a chance we'll be shot) and private (no one's really nosey). We are discussing our next job. Well, Frank and I are. Nate keeps glancing up at the grey sky distractedly. Thunder rolls in the distance and he taps my shoulder. "Sully, can we go inside? I think it's gonna rain."

"No, I think we have some time until that happens. The thunder sounded far off," I respond, then I turn to Frank. "Sorry, you were saying?"

"Yeah, how 'bout-" Frank starts, but is quickly interrupted.

"Sully, please?" Nate asks.

I sigh. "I'm sorry, Frank, just give us a moment." He smiles and nods, amused. "No, Nate. We're staying here."

"But-"

"No means no."

"But if you'd just-"

"Nate!" He closes his mouth. "I said no."

He looks up at the sky nervously. "I'm sorry, but I can't. I've-I've gotta go." Nate springs to his feet and takes off running.

"Nate. Nate!" I call after him. He doesn't stop and continues to head towards the car. I groan and get up. "Sorry, Frank, he's, uh... I've got to go... You know-"

"Go get your boy. We'll talk later," Frank says. "I've got a son of my own at home. I understand."

"Thanks, Frank." I sprint down the path past a woman roller skating with her dog and a few children playing frisbee. Nate's just ahead of me. He's fast, but I have longer legs, so I catch up quickly. He gets delayed when he waits for cars to pass so he can cross the street. I grab his arm before he can get away. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where do you think you're going, little man?"

"What do you care?" he says. His voice sounds gruff like he means it, but, once again, his eyes give him away. They're wide with fear.

"Don't talk to me like that, kid. You're already living on the edge after the crap you just pulled."

"You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father!"

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're right. I'm not your father. But you're living under my roof, so you've got to follow my rules. 'Kay?" He looks at the ground. I've only lived with him for a few months, but I already know that's a tell for when he's trying to cover something up. "Just tell me what's wrong, Nate."

"Can we have this conversation in the car?" He's visibly getting paler.

"Not until you tell me what's up." Nate scratches the back of his head, but keeps his lips firmly pressed together. I sigh and look at my watch. "It's not gonna work, kid. I can tell you right now, you're not going to out-wait me."

Nate looks at the grey clouds and bites his bottom lip. I've never seen him so worked up before. Finally, he says, "I'm afraid of thunderstorms, okay?"

That was not the answer I was expecting. I guess this showed on my face, because he turns away and tries to run off again. I catch him before he can get too far. I keep a tight hold on his arm this time. "I knew this would happen if I told you," he groans.

"What would happen?"

"You're judging me."

"No, I'm not. It's just... a little surprising is all. I've never met someone afraid of storms before."

"Oh, so now I'm a freak?"

"Come on, Nate, give me a break. I'm trying to-" Thunder cracks above us and Nate flinches hard. "You know what? Let's get to the car. We'll finish the conversation there." He nods his head vigorously. "Okay, let's go, kid."

I take his hand and we run across the street into the car. Nate's shaking in his seat. It's obvious this isn't the sort of fear that comes naturally. Someone caused this. "Can we go home?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, of course."

It doesn't start raining until we get into the apartment. "Perfect timing," I say, smiling at Nate. He gives me a small smile, but it falls quickly.

While he bundles himself up in a blanket on the couch, I make hot chocolate for him and coffee for myself. "Thanks, Sully," Nate says, taking the mug from me.

"So, I thought you liked the rain," I say, sitting next to him.

"It's not the rain I'm afraid of, it's the thunder."

"How come I've never seen you like this during a storm?"

"They've only been at night so far. I usually hide under the blankets. It muffles the sound."

"Ah, I see." I wait for him to finish his sip of hot chocolate. "Why are you afraid?"

Nate clears his throat and shifts in his seat. "I'd rather not talk about that."

"Why not?"

"I just don't, okay?"

Another thing I've learned about Nate is not to press him for information he doesn't want to give. He gets all defensive and it just pushes him away. He has to want to tell me. Nate is a force of nature. You can't make him to do anything. He's too goddamn stubborn.

"Alright, alright. You don't need to tell me anything. It's your history. You have the right to tell or not tell, but we need to fix this storm thing, don't we?" He shrugs. "Okay, every time there's a storm, we're going to hang out. We're gonna associate thunderstorms with good memories. Sound like a plan?"

"Sure," Nate says quietly. He looks ashamed of himself.

"Kid, it's okay to be afraid. Everyone's scared of something."

"So what are you afraid of?"

"Uh, rollercoasters."

For the first time since the storm began, Nate actually smiles. "Really? Rollercoasters?"

"Yeah. It's just not natural to be flung around like that."

"I've never been on one before."

"Maybe I'll take you some time." He nods, but then shudders when thunder booms outside. He glances up at me apologetically. I rub his back soothingly. "It's okay, Nate."

He scoots closer to me, careful not to spill his drink. "I know."

I smile down at him, then grab the remote and turn on the TV. I flip through the channels, but nothing catches our interest. "There's never anything good on. How 'bout a movie?"

"Yeah."

I walk over to the bookshelf where my large collection of movies is housed. "The Godfather?"

"Nah, we just saw it."

"Okay, what about... Oh, you're gonna love this one, Nate. Around the World in Eighty Days."

"What's it about?"

"It's in the title, kid. They go around the world in eighty days."

"Okay, let's-" Thunder rattles the windows and Nate's hands clench into fists. He takes a shaky breath then continues, "Let's watch that one."

I nod reassuringly, then I lean back and hit play. This way I have a discreet view of Nate. Showing any kind of concern for his well being usually turns him into your average, moody teenager. Let's hope my "therapy" doesn't drive him away for good. The damn kid's already gotten under my skin.


	2. Chapter 2

Rain pounds on my bedroom window. When it rains, it pours, I guess. I get out of bed and walk down to Nate's room.

I find him in his closet, which is not a strange occurrence with Nate. He claims he gets homesick from time to time, and the closet makes him feel more at home. Why a closet is better than a bed, I don't know (and I'm not sure I'll ever know), but if he's comfortable, I'm okay with it.

Nate has the covers drawn over his head. There's a flash of lightning followed by a crash of thunder. The boy groans. "Nate?" I say. He draws away from my voice, then stops as I continue talking. I must have startled him or something. "Nate, it's okay, it's me. Can you take the sheets off your head?" He pokes his head out, but only up to his eyes. "Come on, let's go watch some TV."

"Do I have to?" he whispers.

"Yes, you'll be fine, kid. Take my hand." I hold out my hand. Nate stares at it for a few seconds, then slowly reaches his hand from under the covers. He latches onto me and I pull him to his feet. When I realize he's still holding his blanket, I tell him, "Leave that. You don't need it." Nate drops it in the closet and turns a shade paler. "Atta boy. Let's go."

I place a hand on his back to keep him moving down the hall. Lightning strikes three more times during this interval. Nate flinches and whimpers each time, but he tries to cover it up by clearing his throat. I don't say anything because I know it'll embarrass him even further.

We make it to the couch and the boy reaches for the blanket hanging over the arm. "Don't. You can't rely on a blanket being around whenever it storms," I say to stop him. He nods, but I can tell he's upset about it. "It's gonna be okay, kid," I say softly, trying to get him to loosen up.

"Just turn on the TV already," he snaps. The storm must be putting him on edge.

I flip through the channels until I find Nate's favorite TV show Star Trek. I don't get the fascination, but this midnight session is for Nate, not me, so I'm gonna have to suck it up for one night. Eventually, he falls asleep on the couch, and I don't have the heart to wake him. I'd rather just deal with a bristling, hostile Nate in the morning than force him to face his fears again. I take it as a victory that he fell asleep during a storm, though. It's a start. A small one, but a start none the less.


	3. Chapter 3

_Four months later..._

Thunder booms in the distance. "Sully?" Nate calls from the living room.

In the past few months, Nate's gotten more familiar with me and thus is becoming increasingly more comfortable coming to me when it storms. It's gratifying to see all the work I've put into him starting to come to fruition. It's becoming clearer everyday that he's more than worth the trouble. And trust me, he's _a lot_ of trouble.

I get up from my desk in my room and walk towards his voice. "I'm comin', kid." He sits on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. "What did I say about blankets?"

He sighs and unwraps himself. "I'm not gonna always have one, so I shouldn't use one now."

"Exactly. What do you want to do?" He shrugs while hugging himself. "You want something to eat?"

"That would work, but we don't have any food."

"Okay, then we'll make some."

"You know how to cook?" he scoffs.

"A few things. I can make cookies." Nate smiles, but it quickly fades when thunder rolls above us. "Come on, let's do it."

I gather all the ingredients we need to make chocolate chip cookies. It's a miracle I actually have all of them. We start by mixing the dough. Nate is blown away by my electric mixer. "I used to have to mix everything by hand when I-" He suddenly cuts himself off.

"When what?" I ask.

"Never mind," Nate mutters glumly. He gives me a look, daring me to ask again, but I don't. I sense his need to hold onto his past a bit longer.

We put a generous amount of chocolate chips in. Then we spread flour on the counter in order to roll the balls of dough. It gets really messy when we start flinging flour at each other. The mess doesn't bother me too much since our little fight distracts him from the storm. Even while we sit and wait for the cookies in the oven, it seems like Nate is able to ignore the lightning. He doesn't flinch as much when there's thunder or cast frantic glances towards the blanket laying over the back of the couch. Maybe my "therapy" is actually helping.


	4. Chapter 4

_Four months later..._

"So how is it in Houston?" asks Nate from the other end of the line. He sounds like he's crunching on something. Chips, probably.

"Houston is hotter than hell," I answer, leaning back in the hotel's desk chair. "I don't know why I picked this job over the gig in Paris."

"Well, there's only two things that drive Victor Sullivan: money and women. Which is it?"

I chuckle and return the front legs of the chair to the ground. "Both, actually. Houston offered a pretty, young lady with a pair of deep pockets." He laughs, making me smile. That seems to be happening more and more often around the kid. "So how's Grandma?"

Before I left, I dropped Nate off at my parent's place. I didn't want some former client with an admittedly justified grudge coming to exact their revenge without me being home. Plus, it'll get my mom off my back about never getting to see Nate. She'll have him all to herself for a few days, minus the time I take up with my daily check up phone calls.

"Grandma's doing well. She made me cookies this afternoon. And in case you were wondering, they were way better than yours," Nate says with his signature cocky undertone.

"I'll bet," I smile. "I'm sure you're tired from all the insane partying you've been doing, so I'm gonna let you get some sleep."

"Riiight. Bye, Sully."

"Bye, kid."

I run a quick shower once I get off the phone with Nate. I had a long day doing recon and gathering information. I hit the bed for a much needed rest.

* * *

I nearly jump out of my skin at the sound of my phone ringing on my bedside table. The digital clock reads 2:34. I place one hand over my racing heart and the other one answers the phone. "Yes?" I croak, cringing at the smell of my breath.

"Vic, i-it's Mom. There's something wrong w-with Nate," she says with a shaking voice. "He's having s-some sort of panic attack, but I don't know why or-or how t-to help."

I'm wide awake now, propped up against the headboard. "Panic attack?"

"Yes, he's curled up in-in the coat closet, m-muttering to himself. I'm not sure if he-he's crying or hyperventilating or both."

"Um, okay..." I swallow hard and force myself to think. _What could have caused this?_ "Is it storming over there?"

"Y-Yes, how'd you know?"

"He's afraid of storms," I sigh, relieved that Nate's simply scared, not poisoned or something. That's not out of the realm of possibility in our line of work .

"If that's the case, I think 'terrified of storms' is a more accurate diagnosis," she says. "What do I need to do?"

"Does he have a blanket with him?"

"...No, but he's covered himself with coats."

"That's fine, we can work with that. Put me on speakerphone." I wait to hear a beep then I ask her to lay the phone somewhere near Nate, but not close enough so he can touch it. I don't want to startle him.

The first thing I hear after the phone is set down is Nate whispering, punctuated with whimpers and groans. "No... No, he's coming... He's gonna... I'm dead this time for sure..."

"Nate?" I say, holding the mouthpiece away from my mouth to keep the volume low.

He seems to react to my voice, pausing momentary to listen then goes on with his nonsensical ramblings.

"Nate, it's me."

There's a longer pause, then comes a sound that eerily resembles that of a puppy crying.

"It's okay, kid. The storm can't hurt you, remember? It's harmless."

"But... the noises..."

"Are just noises," I finish for him. "They're just loud. They don't mean anything."

"Yes, they do."

"They... They do?"

"Mm hm. They-" Nate abruptly stops to let out a little scream as thunder cracks in the background.

"What do they mean?" I ask once I hear his breathing slow back to a semi-normal pace.

"They mean he's angry."

"Who's angry?"

It takes him a few seconds to compose himself after another roll of thunder. I can barely make out the tiny voice that simply responds with, "...Dad."

 _Dad?_ I close my eyes and rest my head against the headboard. So his father's to blame for all this. The thunder must trigger some sort of PTSD. Poor kid.

I guess I waited too long to respond because Nate goes back to talking to himself. "Maybe he won't find me this time... I... I didn't... He's gonna... He's gonna kill me..."

I intervene before he can say anymore. It'll break my heart if I have to hear him continue. "Nate, it's okay. He can't hurt you anymore."

He makes a sound of disagreement. "No... The-the noises mean he's angry. I have to hide."

"He's not gonna hurt you. You're not with him anymore. You're with me. You're safe."

Nate takes some time to mull this over. "...But the noises... I hear him."

"That's just thunder. Can't you tell the difference?"

"...No. Not anymore," he whispers, voice wavering slightly. "Sully... I'm so fucking scared." I then hear a strangled sound. I've never heard Nate cry before, but if I had to guess, I would say that I just heard a sob coming from the brightest and liveliest person I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

And I can't stand the thought.

"It's okay, kid. It's gonna be okay. I promise. I won't let anyone hurt you. It's gonna be okay..." I softly talk into the receiver and I keep talking until that horrible sound stops. I keep talking until he stops hiccupping. I keep talking until I hear only Nate's even breathing. I keep talking until I hear a beep and my mother's voice telling me he fell asleep. I keep talking until she hangs up. I keep talking until I fall asleep.

"I'll always be there, kid. Always."


	5. Chapter 5

I put a hand over Nate's jittering leg. It was rocking the car, making me vaguely motion sick. "Sorry," he mumbles, shifting his leg away from me.

"I just didn't want you to make me throw up before the movie."

He shrugs, peering out the window. "It would make more room for popcorn."

I laugh and put a hand on his head. I draw it back in surprise when I feel his hair is damp. "You hot, kid?"

Nate shakes his head no. "I'm just... thinking about..." He huffs in frustration and lays his head against the window.

 _I'm just thinking about my dad_ , I finish for him in my head. I stop at a red light and glance at him out the corner of my eye. Nate is breathing a bit heavier at each roll of thunder moving over our heads. He's playing with the edge of his sleeve, trying not to look frightened. I sigh and say, "We don't have to see this movie, you know. We could just go home and talk for a bit."

Nate hasn't been all there since the incident at my parents' house. He's much more introverted and when we actually talk, he avoids eye contact at all cost. I've tried to bring up his father as subtly as I can, trying to get him to talk, but he always seems to sense what I'm trying to get at and changes the topic. Their relationship must be really messed up.

"No, I wanna go," Nate assures me, "it's just that the storm is throwing me off. I'll be okay."

"If you say so."

The next few minutes pass in silence. I turn to look at Nate once the car is in park at the theater. He makes to open the door but suddenly stops, his breath catching slightly. Frowning, he shakes his head as if trying to wipe away whatever's ailing him. Cautiously, I ask, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," he snaps, shooting me a nasty look. He then turns to the door again, but he still can't bring himself to open it.

"You don't seem fine."

"Well, I am."

"Well, I say you're not." I reach around the steering wheel for the keys. "We're going home and we're gonna a long conversation about this."

"No, I'm fine Sully."

"You're very obviously not fine."

"Well, I don't want to talk about it. And nothing you do will make me change my mind," he adds before I can say anything.

I lock the doors and fix Nate with a look. "We're not going anywhere until you spill." He sets his jaw, rolls his eyes, and crosses his arms. The typical teenager. "You don't need to tell me everything, kid. Just tell me why."

"It's nothing, Sully. I just want to see the movie."

"Then tell me and we can go."

"Fine," Nate grumbles. "I hate my dad. Happy now?"

"Why do you hate your dad?"

"Why does anyone hate their dad? He was a crappy father. That's it, end of story. Can we go now?"

"You still haven't given me a reason."

"I just gave you one."

"That's not-" I stop and rub my face to prevent my frustration from showing through. That would definitely do more harm than good. "That's not a reason, Nate. That's a description."

"It's all the same to me."

"Kid, you're a terrible liar, so cut the bullshit and tell me the truth."

I suddenly think I may have pushed him too far. His face is flushing red and his hands are clenching into fists. I try to tell him never mind, but deep down I know there's no stopping him now.

"Fine, you want me to cut the bullshit, I will. I hate my father because he never loved me. He never hugged me, never kissed me, never even fed me, and you wanna know why? He was a drunk. All the money the government gave us to help with food went to fueling his alcohol problem. Did anyone do anything about it? No, because I didn't matter. I was just another number. Another sad statistic. Does this story always want to kill myself after telling it? Yes, but I don't do it because I know others have it worse and don't complain. Sure, my life sucks, but so do a lot of people's lives. You probably have your own tragic back story. I don't know why you want to get in my head so badly, but there you go. Was my life story to your satisfaction?"

About halfway through, he couldn't meet my eyes any longer. He angrily glared down at his hands, refusing to let me acknowledge the tears gathering in his eyes. Fortunately, he's easy to read even when I can't see his eyes. I can tell the tears are angry tears. He thinks life was unfair to him, but he feels it's selfish to think that. I'll bet that has something to do with those nuns he mentioned when we first met.

I start the car, both of us staring straight ahead. Nate doesn't protest when I pull out of the theater parking lot. He just sighs and goes back to glumly gazing out the window.

Nate finally perks up when I stop at the grocery store. "I'll be right back," I assure him before exiting the vehicle. I'm afraid I'm going to come back to an empty car, but I have to take the risk.

It takes me some time to find what I'm looking for. I don't usually come to the store. Take out suits me and Nate just fine. Plus, I don't trust either of us to cook, so it's not like we're missing out.

I take my purchases to the young lady on the end. I was expecting her to look at me weird, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she gives me a sly smirk and what Nate refers to as "do me eyes". _Oh, of all the luck..._ Literally any other time, I would have been all over her, but tonight I have to deal with Nate. I just give her a pathetic smile, pay my dues, and leave before I can change my mind.

The storm has blown over by the time I return to the car. To my relief, Nate hasn't moved an inch. The car is again silent on the way to our next destination. Only the noises from outside the car interrupt our vigil. I try to think of something to talk about to get his mind off of his father, but I never voice any of them.

I pull off the paved road onto a trail that leads into the middle of the woods. I find a clear spot to park next to an abandoned hut. I take my bag along with me to the side of the building with the least amount of windows. Nate only extripates himself when I call for him. "Please don't tell me you're gonna shoot me," he says.

"No," I chuckle, surprised at the sudden return of the snark. "I just have a few things to say."

"Okay. Shoot."

I pause for a moment, thinking over my words again. "Life isn't fair. It seems like it's been especially cruel to you. You can't spend your short time on this earth pouting about it because there's always someone who has it worse. But sometimes... it's okay to ask 'why me'. It's okay to yell and scream, to curse God, to beat the ground until your hands bleed. So tonight, I want you to get it all off your chest. I want you yell and scream. I want you to demand an answer to 'why me'." I open the bag to reveal my purchases. "I want you to smash these plates against the wall."

Nate looks at the 24 plates neatly stacked in the cardboard box. "Are you sure you're not a poet?" he mumbles, picking at the tape.

"I am no poet. Believe me," I say, tearing the rest of the tape off the plates.

"There's a story there."

"Yes, but that's for another time. Now is your chance to be a toddler." I hand him a plate. He takes it hesitantly. "Do your worst."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Have I ever been wrong about anything?" Nate takes a breath to answer, but I interrupt him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just throw the damn plate."

He giggles, then regards the wall. He throws the plate almost apologetically and flinches when they make contact. I smack my forehead with my palm when the plate lands on the forest floor without so much as a scratch. Nate gives me a sheepish smile as I wander over to where it landed. I walk back to him and turn to the wall. "Watch and learn, kid. You're gonna learn how to have a proper temper tantrum." I step into the throw while yelling, "I hate my father!" The plate shatters spectacularly, giving off the satisfying sound of smashing dishware.

Nate's eyes light up with curiosity, no doubt wondering why I hate my father. But that's another story for a different time. Before he can start asking questions, I hand him the second plate and motion towards his target. Nate inhales and exhales, squaring his shoulders. This time the plate leaves his hand with a much more acceptable velocity and says, "I hate your cigars."

"Okay, better," I evaluate after the plate shatters. "But don't be afraid to put your whole body into it. And what the hell kind of scream was that? I want to hear some emotion behind it."

It takes Nate four more plates to finally get into it. He tries to out do himself with each throw. His vocabulary becomes much more vulgar as well. I'm so proud.

"I hate push-ups!"

"Night driving is bullshit!"

"The Mets suck!"

"Fuck school!"

"Fuck Dad!"

"Fuck God!"

"Fuck everything!"

He lost creativity points near the end, but at that point he was hurling the plates with such ferocity, I was afraid to say anything.

Nate falls asleep on the way home with a smile on his face for the first time in months. That fact makes me happier than anything has in a long time.


	6. Chapter 6

_Twenty years later..._

I try to get my breathing under control as I press the buzzer to Sully's apartment. Half a minute later, I hear Sully sigh over the intercom. "Who is it?"

"Nate," I say, voice shaking slightly.

"Nate? Something wrong?"

"Um..."

"Yes or no, kid."

"...Yes."

The only response I get is the front door unlocking. I quickly enter the building to get out of the rain. Sully holds his door open for me as I get to the top of the staircase. He even has a towel ready for my dripping clothing, mumbling something about his "damn hardwood floors".

"Thanks for letting me in," I say around the mug of coffee Sully made me.

He rolls his eyes and sits across from me. "What can I say, kid? I don't answer the door for just anyone at two in the morning. I've gone soft." I smirk and raise my mug to my lips. Sully speaks up a few seconds later. "So I'm guessing this visit has to do with the storm."

I nod very subtly, but I'm sure Sully caught it. He always does. "I couldn't sleep and when I finally fell asleep, I had a nightmare."

"Don't blankets usually help?"

"Yeah, but this one was different. I needed to see you because..."

I try to find the words to describe how I'm feeling, but Sully waves me off. "Just explain the dream, kid."

"It was more vivid than the others. It was..." I shudder.

"Hm. What was it about?"

"I, um... I don't really want to talk about it."

"Oh, please. You show up at my door before the sun is above the goddamn horizon and you don't even have the grace to tell me why?"

He says it in jest, but he has a point. He deserves to know. "Fine, I'll tell you, ya big cry baby." Sully narrows his eyes, but lets me continue. "It started out pretty normal. You and I were hanging out in the apartment, joking around while planning our next job. Then there was a knock at the door. It was a thunderous knocking, too. You answered the door and there stood my dad. My subconscious knew I was dreaming, but I freaked out anyway. I ran into my room and watched from the doorway. You and Dad yelled at each other for a while and..."

"...And what?"

"Sully, I don't-"

"Ah, ah, ah. Continue."

"But I-"

"Now."

"Okay, okay," I sigh. "Dad... was trying to take me back home with him and-and you... refused. Dad didn't like that and he pulled a gun on you. I saw it coming and I tried to stop him, but he shot you anyway." I get quieter and quieter the longer I talk. "I-I know it's a stupid and childish dream and I shouldn't be scared, but it-"

"Nate, it's okay to be scared. That's what I'm here for, alright?" Sully keeps scooting closer. He eventually reaches out and takes my hand. "It's okay, kid. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, okay?"

I don't know how, but somehow I end up in Sully's arms. He whispers reassurances in my ear. I just let him hold me. On any other day, it would be weird. But with no one watching, I just let it happen. He told me I was like a son to him. He's family. I have nothing to worry about.

I wake up the next morning on Sully's couch to the smell of flowers. But not just any flowers. Roses. The kind Elena always smells like. I shift a little and, sure enough, someone's arms are restricting my movement. I let her keep her hold on me, however. She smells a lot better than Sully.

My thoughts and Elena's sleep are cut short by someone calling from the kitchen. "Rise 'n shine, kids! Waffles are done!"

"Sully..." I groan, "five more minutes..."

"Come on, you can spend quality time with your girl later. Your food is getting cold!"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have started cooking before we woke up!"

"Boys, we can compromise," Elena yawns, finally stirring. "How about breakfast in bed?"

"Not with me in the room," Sully says. "I'm not into that food porn stuff."

"Sully!" Elena gasps, throwing a pillow at him from across the apartment.

We all laugh together as Sully carries our food into the living room. I hug Elena a little tighter and kiss her on the top of her head. She must have come looking for me last night, and found me after I finally passed out. I have a feeling she knew exactly where to look for me.

If there's one thing I'm certain about, it's that I love my family to the ends of the earth and back (or the moon and back, which ever's farther). They're worth more than any treasure ever could. The smell of flowers, cigars, and waffles proves that they feel the same about me.


End file.
